Sentimental Street
by WhisperWeeper
Summary: There is no place for emotion in a job. At least, that's what Vash used to think. Now, however, he was having quite the hard time not getting attached to a certain café regular. It also didn't help that the handsome man only seemed to like the coffee he would make, or that he seemed very intent on taking him out to dinner.
1. A Latte Fuss About Nothing

**Vash recounts his beginnings in America, and a chance encounter with an attractive stranger.**

 **...xXx…**

There is no place for emotion in a job.

At least, that's what Vash used to think. Over the course of four years working at _The_ _Café Raring_ , despite his initial intentions, the man had accumulated a small, loyal group of people that he would call friends, even family. _Rare_ , to be sure.

 _The Café Raring_ was a cozy little café located in the middle of a moderately sized American city, founded by a Swedish immigrant in tribute to his spouse. With a classic brick and fireplace aesthetic, the café sold specialty sweets and coffee from around the world, and made it a point to be very inclusive with its menu options. One could order a cup of java to go, or they could settle down in a booth with lunch and a slice of pie, and finish their novel, if they so chose to do.

Berwald, the owner, was an formidable, stoic wall of a Swede, and Vash soon discovered that he was one of the kindest men he'd met since moving to America. He was more than fair with customers and his employees, if firm at times, and ran a tight ship. Vash respected him immensely. Berwald also made the best damn pastries he'd ever tasted in his life.

Vash, being an immigrant himself, albeit from Switzerland, hadn't expected to feel so welcome in a foreign country.

He'd been homeless for the first week of living in America, unbeknownst to his sister— _thank God._ Lilli was safely moved into her dorm, unaware that her brother _hadn't_ gotten an apartment yet to stay in like he said he had while she began her first year at university. The Swiss man had spent her entire orientation week sleeping in bus stations or parks, going from business to business to apply for jobs, and he soon would find out that trying to get hired in America with broken English was a very delicate affair. Depending on what part of town he was in, he'd either be ignored, shooed away, or met with even more broken English of a completely different origin.

Then he'd walked into the café and was just about hired on the spot.

All but shaking in his boots and over sized duffle coat, the only coat he'd owned at the time, being interviewed by the tall Swede had been a stressful endeavor. Vash stumbled over every other word, trying to sit up to his full height and come across as _anything_ other than completely desperate.

Only a few minutes in, Berwald had raised a hand to stop the slew of skewered words from streaming out of his mouth, and got up to head behind the counters and into the kitchen. Vash had ducked his head and grit his teeth as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, resigning himself to rejection. Ashamed and angry at himself for ruining yet another opportunity simply because he couldn't learn a language fast enough. He knew _three damn languages already,_ yet he couldn't find a use for them in this hell of a city.

Then a mug of hot coffee and a bowl of steamy stew was set in front of him. Looking up in shock as Berwald sat back down in front of him, Vash swiftly began to try and convey the universal, _"I can't pay for this,"_ despite the fact that his stomach was protesting his protest. The Swedish man only gestured at the food with a nod, stern blue eyes leaving no room for argument.

Only mildly despising himself, he eagerly dug into the offered food. It had been the first actual meal he'd had since he'd gotten off his plane, having subsisted on mostly cheap street pretzels and wiener dogs since his arrival days before. While he'd eaten, Berwald had asked him a few more questions here and there, mostly pertaining to his language gap, discerning which words he did and did not know. Vash had done his best to answer them between mouthfuls of delicious stew.

Not long after, the Swede called over a gentleman from the entrance of the shop. Vash looked over the lofty, blond-haired, blue-eyed man with a mixture of both curiosity and trepidation. He finished eating his meal while the two men quietly went back and forth for a moment, before the new arrival turned to him with a smile as asked him, _"Do you speak French?"_ in said language.

Vash had nearly dropped his spoon in surprise, his response being a very relieved, _"Yes! Yes, I speak French! A-And German, and Italian."_

The man's smile only sweetened and he nodded to Berwald as he sat in the booth next to the Swede across from him.

 _"I'm Matthew, and it's very nice to meet you,"_ the man said in a soft voice, his French oddly accented. It was still more or less the same as Vash recognized it. The other reached over the table to shake his hand. _"Berwald tells me you're from Switzerland, yes? What is your preferred language, if I may ask?"_

 _"Vash,"_ the Swiss replied, returning the handshake. _"Ah, German, usually, but I'm fluent in all three. It's English that I'm still getting the hang of."_

Matthew laughed lightly. The other two men spoke a few words to each other that Vash only partially understood before looking to him again.

 _"All Berwald wants to know,"_ Matthew began, holding back a playful eyeroll, _"is if you can make a cup of coffee."_

Vash had, at the time, been very confused and very nervous. _"Of course,"_ he answered almost like a question. He crossed his arms self consciously and leaned forward onto the table. _"I wouldn't be applying to a coffee shop if I couldn't. I can also cook,"_ he added quickly.

Matthew relayed his answer to the taller Swede with a bit of a chuckle. Berwald only nodded and mumbled a few words, which the other translated back to him as, _"What can you cook?"_

Vash didn't even hesitate.

 _"Anything."_

And that was how he'd been hired to work at _The Café Raring._

That interview had been one of the best things to ever happen to him.

It was soon revealed that Matthew also worked at the café as one of the pastry chefs, and the man—whom he found out was Canadian and that was the reason for his queerly accented French—was a great help in the months to come.

Aside from helping him communicate with customers and his fellow coworkers, Matthew had offered him a place to stay. The man's brother had recently moved out of their shared apartment and he had been about to place an ad for another roommate. The blond instead allowed Vash to take the spot right away after their first meeting when Vash had accidentally let it slip that he didn't have a place to stay yet. The Canadian's face had morphed into almost comical horror and he, ignoring any objections, essentially corralled Vash into agreeing to live with him.

The Swiss was normally more careful about moving in with a stranger after only one day of knowing them, but right then his morality had absolutely _no_ problem with the idea. He was more grateful to sleep on something other than a cold, hard bench. And, indeed, also having an entire room to himself was a welcome bonus, too.

Little did he know at the time that Matthew would end up becoming one of his closest friends, both at work and where he would soon call home.

Remarkably, Berwald's husband became the Swiss man's English instructor. Tino, a short, homey looking Finnish man, had been introduced to him after his very first shift by the Swede. He was an interpreter for local organizations and law enforcement, who also took on private clients from time to time.

Despite not having the income for lessons, Tino had agreed to tutor him pro bono on behalf of Berwald and his own _adamantly_ stated sense of philanthropy.

For months after every shift Vash studied under the Finn. Tino taught him from his native German, of which he was entirely grateful. He found himself picking up English much easier with Tino than trying to do so by himself via the internet back in Bern.

It took him just short of six months to learn basic fluency, enough to get by in most day-to-day situations.

Before his first year in America was over he was completely fluent.

Subsequently, Vash had gotten close to all who worked in the café. Berwald preferred to hire other foreigners, mostly those who were struggling to catch their footing in a new land, and college students from the nearby university. That meant the mix of staff at _The Café Raring_ became quite the eclectic hodgepodge of outsiders.

Like Angelique, a genuinely excitable young lady with dark skin and curls, and also Matthew's adopted younger sister. She was enrolled at the college under a marketing major, and was always coming up with new ideas for promoting the coffee shop online. Angelique also worked as a part-time waitress and had been more than encouraging while Vash had gone through his training, and the two of them found a nice rhythm working together fairly soon.

Lilli and her would often hang out around town together, have sleepovers, and talk about their various school studies and recent movies and the such. Between his sister's newfound fashion merchandising skills and Angelique's out of the box marketing schemes, he was confident that the two women were planning to take over the fashion industry.

Vash was simply glad that Lilli had found a friend, as he had.

Toris, the main manager and lunch chef, took awhile to warm up to, but that was mostly due to their joint reclusive natures. The Swiss' default demeanor was calm and quiet, and he enjoyed the same sentiment from the lanky brunet man. The man had moved to America from Lithuania over a decade ago as an acquaintance of Berwald, and the man helped him settle down to a new life. He mostly helped the Swede make the majority of the wonderful food they served every day. Not to mention, he was almost _too_ kind to customers, and always had an ear open if any one of the staff needed solace. They got along relatively well.

There were a few others that, though he wasn't as close with as Matthew or Berwald, he certainly appreciated their company during the day-to-day.

Berwald had hired one of his cousins on as a waiter not long after Vash joined the staff. Emil was his name, and he was a taller, pale-haired young man around his sister's and Angelique's age. He also attended the university as a marine biology major, and although he was mostly subdued if anyone got him talking about animals he wouldn't stop for some time.

Then there were Bazil and Kagan. An odd pair, those two. Both worked as baristas, handling the alcohol section of the shop. Bazil had dark, ashy hair and kept his head down most of the time. He had a thick Eastern European accent that Vash had spent three whole months trying to discern before giving up and just asked. _Slovakia_. He honestly would have never guessed it.

Bazil usually only spoke when spoken to, and even then it was really only to Kagan—though why the shy young man decided he liked to converse only with the loud, red-headed Irishman of the group, Vash didn't know. They worked closely in sync, never missing a beat of flair to entertain the customers with their opposite-yet-so-similar skill.

Lastly was Mae, a barista and assistant manager. A lovely, cheery woman who immigrated from Taiwan to the U.S. years before and had spent months hopping from city to city, never staying in one place for too long. The black-haired woman had decided to stay permanently around Vash's second year of working at the café, stating that, _"The vibe is just too good to leave behind. That, and the coffee."_ She handled the in-and-out coffee orders and cashier duties. Mae acted as the mother hen of the group, besides Berwald—though Vash would never admit it to his face—and made sure to keep everyone in high spirits and customers pleased.

The café had become almost like a foster family for Vash and his sister.

Berwald and Tino like the parents they never had, and Matthew like a brother. Over the course of four years, Vash had worked his way up to the level of manager and also assisted the Swede with the shop's accounting, having always had a knack for math.

He'd never worked in a place where everyone got along before, and it had been a jarring change to accompany his initial culture shock. The Swiss siblings had been invited to many outings and birthday parties, something that the both of them had to get used to.

Vash had no desire to look for a job anywhere else, and was quite content to spend his days around people he actually enjoyed and doing work he took pride in.

 **...xXx…**

Set in a closely knit college neighborhood, _The Café Raring_ had a handful of regulars among the ever changing waves of people.

The first was a profoundly tired looking man with wild, curly brown hair who would always wait outside until either Vash or Berwald would open up the shop around _5am._ The Swiss was pretty sure that he was a student at the nearby university, which would explain his early morning, or late night, coffee habit. Vash appreciated seeing the stranger's never ending collection of cat T-shirts and sweatshirts that he always wore.

Another regular of the shop was a towering, nearly platinum blond fellow who constantly wore a scarf, even in the summer. Shorts, flip-flops, tank top, and his token scarf. Weird one that one, but he was polite enough. Sometimes he came in with two women who Vash could only assume were related to him, if their silver-blonde hair and bickering were anything to go by.

Vash didn't know his name, and Matthew usually insisted on taking his order so he must be a familiar local, though he didn't know where from. Toris also seemed to know him, though he would hide out in the kitchen whenever the man would walk in. He should really ask the Lithuanian about that some time.

The next two regulars usually showed up an hour after opening, and always together. An Englishman professor who worked at said university—Vash knew this because the man was always complaining about his students' behavior—and the French owner of the restaurant across the street, _Merveille._

Francis was his name, nice enough man. Vash served him many times throughout the day, despite the fact that the Frenchman could probably easily make his own coffee. He wouldn't turn away a customer, though, and he had to admit that it was nice to chat with the other man about crazy encounters and food when they were both standing outside for their breaks.

It took him five months to figure out that he was Angelique and Matthew's father, though. A fact which neither ever let him live down.

And then there was the Austrian.

 _Him._

Fuck, if there'd ever been a person on Earth more precise about his coffee than that man. If his order wasn't made _exactly_ the way he suggested—the amount of espresso, the number of spoonfuls of sugar, the swirl of cream—he would ask for them to remake it.

Not rudely, not like some asshole patron expecting to receive extra consideration because they're God's gift to the world. No, never rudely; only with a gentle insistence that they'd gotten it wrong, and for them to try again.

 _"Once more, if you please."_

Bazil and Mae outright refused to serve him, apparently unable to ever make a coffee that was _just right._ The man would eventually take whatever was given to him, not wanting to hold up the line any further, and leave. Over the course of several months, it seemed like no one else on staff could make his coffee correctly, not even _Berwald._

The Swede had been especially remorseful at being unable to satisfy the customer's picky appetite, and had sulked for two days straight afterwards. _Two days._ No one could meet the man's standards.

All except _him,_ as fate would have it.

Vash remembered Angelique tugging him inside by the sleeve one afternoon, forced to end his glorious hour break after only ten minutes. The girl had been whispering in a panic about how there was a madman who didn't like any of the coffee she made him and she needed his help and how there was a line building—and _wow,_ he can still remember her pleading. He also remembered being peeved at being torn away from his lunch too soon, and he was determined to make the grumpiest cup of coffee of his life.

At the time, Vash hadn't had the chance to serve the man yet. He'd never even caught glimpses of him, either being on break or not at work that day, and had only heard the tales of woe from his companions.

So when he'd walked in from the back of the kitchen, through the entrance to behind the counters, and came face to face with the man, Vash had thought Angelique was pulling his leg.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir," Angelique had said with a relieved smile, gesturing to the Swiss. "I'm sure my manager can assist you with your order." And with that, she swiftly snagged another customer and stepped away.

Vash hardly heard her. He was too busy staring at the man across the counter from him.

Surely this . . . this _attractive_ man couldn't be the difficult patron he'd heard his fellows complain so much about. With his soft looking and neatly styled, hazel-colored hair, and his long asymmetrical, navy wool pea coat that fit his lithe form a little too perfectly. Or with that handsomely narrow face, high cheekbones, and, _God,_ were his eyes _violet_ —

"What can I get you?" Vash blurted, forcing his thoughts to grind to a halt before things got awkward.

When the man spoke back, his voice was a smooth, lilting accent that sent the Swiss's heart into a flutter.

"I'd like one _Melange_ with a teaspoon of sugar, please," he'd said, fiddling with one of his coat buttons. "I can explain what that is, if you're unfamiliar," he added almost apologetically.

It was then that Vash recognized his accent.

"Are you German?" Vash asked.

"Yes." The prim man perked up, rare-colored eyes widening. "I mean, of a sorts. I'm from Austria."

Vash had felt a tiny flicker of delight at being able to guess correctly. His own accent was obvious, and while his English was clear and precise, his voice was naturally quiet and gruff. Not to mention, he'd become adept at picking out the familiar tones echoing from others, nostalgic at the sound. He couldn't quite catch his smile before the other noticed.

"That explains it," he'd muttered to himself, beginning to make the tailored _Melange._

He didn't account for the other hearing him.

"Explains what?" the taller man asked with a tilt of his head, a stray curl loosening in front of an ear.

"Your finicky orders," Vash replied, adding in the sugar to the espresso before he worked the steamed milk.

"I hardly think a _Melange_ counts as finicky." The apparent Austrian partially pouted his bottom lip. Vash inhaled sharply.

It wasn't uncommon for them to get a customer requesting a specific kind of coffee from a specific nation. Their menu had items from around the world already, but it would have been impossible to include all the different ways people brew the beaned drink from everywhere else. It was nice to get to work on uniquely German flavors, as coffee had been his lifeblood during the long days and nights in Bern.

He glanced to his left to see that Angelique had successfully redirected the depleting line of walk-ins, and that it was currently only him and the striking gentleman on the far side of the counter. With practiced ease, the blond man added the bubbling milk to the espresso and made sure to leave a nice froth at the top of the larger cup.

"Of course not," Vash said as he stepped over and presented the complete coffee for inspection. "It just takes a German to make German coffee, ja?"

"Oh?" The brunet tilted his head again, eyes flashing curiously as he picked up the cup.

Vash had just shrugged, and waited, half expecting to get the boiling liquid thrown back at him with a pretty sneer.

However, when the man had tasted the coffee, he'd looked all sorts of surprised. _Pleased._ Vash felt his ears burn as he watched the man lick a line of froth from his lip.

The Austrian briefly murmured a melodic, _"I wonder,"_ paid, and then left.

Not one of the staff had believed Angelique when she told them about it. That the unappeasable customer had accepted the very _first_ coffee Vash had made him. The Swiss found it all amusing, though he could admit to being a little baffled himself, slightly dizzied from his brush with the beautiful Austrian gentleman.

That is, until said man came in again with a different order and Vash was able to satisfy it. This went on for some time, and the blond was sure that the man was trying to challenge him in some way, like a game. Every time the Austrian entered the shop, Vash would be the one to take his order, and every time the man accepted what he was given without any sort of protest.

It'd gotten to the point that, according to his coworkers, if Vash wasn't working then he wouldn't order any coffee. The elegant man would instead purchase a pastry and leave.

Occasionally, he came into the café to sit at one of their booths and relax. He'd order his coffee, something to eat, and then sit in the far back corner by the window to read or do some kind of work in a notebook.

The Austrian would sit for hours, once in awhile asking for another drink. Vash would try not to steal glances for hours, giving him the refills as needed.

Vash was reluctant to admit it, but he definitely took it as a point of pleasure to be the only one able to serve the particular man. Sure, it was annoying that he'd sometimes have to be dragged away from something else important just to do so, but he had to give the man credit where it was due.

Vash made one helluva cup o' coffee.

 **...xXx…**

 ** _Raring_ \- Swedish old-fashioned nickname meaning "sweetheart, dear one"**

 ** _Merveille_ \- French for "marvel, wonder"**

 ** _Ja_ \- German for "yes"**

 ** _Melange_ \- A Melange is the typical Viennese coffee specialty. It is one small espresso served in a large cup with half steamed milk topped off with milk froth.**

 **I've done it, folks. Can you believe it, I've finally done it. I gave in and made a flipping Coffee Shop!AU fanfic at last. I swore it wouldn't be done. Now look at me. Look back to you. Look back at me. Now look at these dumb characters that I love so much that I am literally handing them the happiest AU on a silver platter.**

 **Just how many times can I write about the same characters falling in love, you ask? All.**

 **I'm gifting this to my good friend, _Mr_Roderich._ You've been there for me during some tough times, and this is only a fraction of my thanks that I can give back to you. I hope you'll like this completely indulgent fluff, hun~**


	2. Breaking New Grounds

**Vash performs a kind deed, and receives a surprise in return.**

 **...xXx…**

Vash smoothed down the front of his apron and took a sip of his _kaffee-crème_ , his second one of the day. It was mid-afternoon and he was rounding the way to the last half of his shift. It had been him, Bazil, and Toris for the remainder of the day, and all was business as usual.

Foot traffic had slowed down, and only a few patrons sat around a couple of their tables; a pair of friends chatting over some booze and espresso shots, and an older woman with a latte furiously typing away at her laptop.

Vash's green eyes glanced over from Bazil wiping down the line of machines towards the last customer hidden in the far back booth on his right.

The Austrian had been seated there only a half hour so far, and indeed it looked like he'd be there until closing like so many times before. A large black umbrella stood against the wall and his signature pea coat hung on a hook beside the booth, lit by the soft café lights like a cobalt spotlight. The man wore a deep, peacock blue V-neck sweater over a black undershirt, and tailored pair of ebony slacks. The lanky man was leaned comfortably in the corner of the booth and window, resting an elbow on the sill as he propped up his head in his hand. He'd brought a book with him, a thin, worn looking hardback, and he was savoring his drink of choice for the day.

A _Mozart Café_ —one double espresso with a cap of whipped cream, sprinkle of brown sugar, and a cordial glass of sherry on the side. A little extra from his usual orders, but no problem. Vash made the espresso while Bazil handled the sherry.

Vash looked up as a customer entered the shop, the door bell tinkling. He relaxed as he saw the newcomer walk over to the bar section of the counter and let Bazil handle it. He peaked back towards the Austrian over the rim of his mug as he took another drink.

The gentleman had his book open in his lap, legs crossed, thumb marking the page, but his attention was directed through the window. The sky was a darkening grey and a mellow rain had been steadily bathing the city all day. The chestnut-haired man didn't look to be watching anything in particular, but there was a slight furrow to his brow that the Swiss could spy in his reflection.

He appeared sadder than usual.

Vash set down his coffee and ran a hand through his hair, tucking a few stray strands that had escaped his tied bun behind an ear.

 _I wonder what's bothering him,_ he mused.

Over the months the Austrian had become an earnest regular at _The Café Raring._ He'd either get a coffee to go or sit for hours, working on this and that or read. As such, they were on a _"Hello, how are you today?"_ basis in a much more familiar manner; asking about each others' day, how their weekend had gone, etc. They weren't too personal, but it was nice all the same.

The Austrian was extremely polite and kind to him, and Vash appreciated the occasional courtesy of conversing in his native tongue. The blond would find himself looking forward to the next time he'd walk in. _Always next time, next time._

However, earlier that day when the gentleman had entered the shop and placed his coffee order, the brunet had a nervous air about him.

As Vash prepared his cup, the man had said, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," the Swiss replied automatically, sprinkling on the brown sugar as the Austrian perused their displays of sweets and cakes.

"Do you happen to make _Linzer torte?"_ the other inquired, glancing up to him.

Vash had to think about it for a moment, running down their long lists of items in his head and then double checked on the cheat sheet posted underneath the counter. His heart sank as he came up empty in both places.

"I'm afraid we don't." Vash very much disliked telling someone that they didn't have something particular—it felt like he was letting them down.

"Oh, all right." The Austrian simply nodded and walked around the counter towards his usual booth as Vash followed him with the tray of coffee and sherry.

"Is there something else that I can get you?" Vash offered, setting the drinks on the tabletop as the man shed his coat.

The hazel-haired man shook his head and turned to gesture at the coffee. "No, thank you, I'm good for now. I just thought I'd ask."

Vash had relented and bid him enjoyment before stepping away towards the counter.

Not very many customers had entered the shop since then, and the Swiss had nothing to distract himself with. The floor was clean, the counters were clean, the tables were clean, the machines were clean, the array of mugs and glasses were clean; everything was _clean._ Customers were in no need of service at the moment, Bazil had the front covered, and Toris was getting a head start on their inventory count for the evening in the back.

There was nothing, and no one, to stop Vash from looking up _Linzer torte_ recipes online.

Scrolling down his phone, he tapped on a few results. The only thing he knew was that it was some sort of cake from Austria— _why am I not surprised_ —but he'd never really seen it before. Not even while he was in Switzerland. Vash read through several recipes; scanning the ingredient lists and preparation steps, flipping to reviews to see which one garnered the most positive feedback.

The elegant man still sat in his corner, violet eyes shining in the misty window.

 _I think I have time,_ Vash assured himself, grip tightening on his phone. The café wouldn't close for hours more, and the cake could be completed in that timespan if he hurried.

The Swiss shook away the last bit of his reservations.

 _I have time._

Vash spun around on his heel and pushed through the door to the kitchen. The large room with its many counters, cupboards, and ovens smelled of warm sugar and flour, the sharp scent of beans becoming sharper as he walked towards the back pantry. He spied Toris standing along one wall, clipboard in hand, listening to one earbud worth of music. The man turned as he heard the Swiss approach.

"Is it still slow out there?" Toris asked and Vash nodded as he stepped up next to him.

He cleared the ball of anxiousness from his throat and asked, "Hey, can you take over for me?"

Toris raised his eyebrows in surprise, blinking at him.

"Sure thing," the Lithuanian said slowly, setting down his clipboard on a nearby counter. "What for?"

Vash sheepishly pointed at his phone, glancing towards the ovens. "There's a new recipe that I wanted to try."

Toris gave him an odd look. "How long will it take?"

"I'll be quick, promise." Vash gestured to the freezer. "It needs time to chill so I'll also start prepping for tomorrow morning while I wait."

"All right, if you say so." The man shrugged and headed for the door, waving his hand with a small laugh. "Just try not to burn anything."

Vash agreed and set to work.

 **...xXx…**

He stared at the cake.

 _I think it's done._

The cake stared back.

 _Just take it to him._

He leaned his hands on the counter, staring harder.

The cake had turned out . . . Well, he wasn't sure. He'd made two tortes, what with them being small and him needing to taste one of them to make certain that it had turned out correctly. It tasted delicious. To _him,_ at least, considering he didn't know how a _Linzer torte_ was supposed to taste in the first place. He'd never had it before.

The cake was _different._ The texture was altogether something he'd never experienced from a cake before. It involved almonds and hazelnuts in the dough, and currant jam for the topping.

There had been a panic moment towards the start of his quest when he couldn't find currant _anything_ in the pantry or refrigerators, as there weren't many desserts they used it for. He'd eventually found some black currant reserve in the very back of the third pantry, after asking Toris, admittedly. The rest of the process went smoothly enough: stirring the ingredients into the dough, placing said dough in the freezer, then pressing the chilled dough into the pans he'd laid out and covering it with the jam, and then the Swiss had done his best to work a fine lattice grid overtop the torte before placing it into the oven to bake.

After all's said and done, a single slice sat prettily on a ceramic plate. Vash added a dollop of whipped cream on the side, with shaved almonds and confectioner's sugar over top the whole thing.

The yellow-haired man straightened up and forced himself to take a deep breath. It'd taken more time to complete than he thought it would—considering he had to wait around three hours for the dough to chill. In that time he'd returned to help serve a few customers, give the Austrian a refill on both the espresso and sherry, and done a bit of inventory work in lieu of Toris.

And now he was just wasting the last bit of daylight.

The shop was near closing time; only around an hour left on the clock, and the wet streets were already lit up by lamps.

His nerves were all a-tangle under his skin, and he smoothed down the front of his apron. He swore softly as he accidentally left white dusty trails on the dark fabric.

 _It's just cake._

Vash exhaled a deep sigh, picked up the plate, and headed for the kitchen door. Every step felt like he was going uphill.

Shouldering the door open, he breathed in the cooler café atmosphere, already feeling calmer once he left the stuffy kitchen. Toris and Bazil were busy serving a group of walk-ins, some dead-eyed looking college girls, and took no notice of him. He glanced around and saw that the two friends and older woman had all left, leaving only one patron still lounging inside the shop.

The Austrian hadn't moved from when he'd last seen him, still intently reading from his novel. Head tilted down, a few strands of his dark hair brushed over his temple and tangled with the arms of his glasses.

Vash hesitated. His mind kicked him. _The cake's getting cold, you idiot._ He stepped from around the counter.

The man didn't notice his approach right away. Once the blond reached the table, the Austrian lifted his head in acknowledgement without taking his eyes off the pages of his book. "I'm all set on coffee for the evening," he murmured distractedly, with that silk laden voice of his. "Perhaps a little more sherry, though."

The brunet startled as the Swiss set the plate in down front of him. Lavender eyes glanced from the cake to him and back again, thin eyebrows raised in astonishment. Emerald eyes tried not to shy away as Vash stood before him.

The two of them stared at each other, both lost for the moment.

Vash was the first to break.

"I, ah," he began, inwardly cursing the shake in his voice. He waved towards the cake to draw the other's attention away from _him, oh my God, he's just looking at me!_ "I'm not sure if it's exactly what you'd asked for, so I don't know if you'd think it's any good." _Fuck, stop babbling, you idiot!_ Vash pushed more hair behind his ear. "I'm sorry that it took so long. I would have liked to have gotten it out to you sooner, but I had to make everything from scratch, so."

The bubble of tension between them popped the instant he'd opened his mouth, and the Austrian had straightened up, setting his book to the side. The gentleman composed his shocked expression to one of his usual tranquility, though his eyes sparkled with something that Vash couldn't discern.

"This is _Linzer torte,"_ the man stated. Vash bit the inside of his cheek, nodding. "You made this," he continued, pointing at the dessert. Another nod. "From scratch." _Nod._ "For me."

The tops of his ears and his cheeks began to burn bright, and Vash ducked his head as he finally looked away. The pattern of raindrops against the window were _very_ intriguing right then. His heart seemed to beat in time to the _tap, tap, tap_ against the glass.

The Austrian kept looking at him, however, apparently waiting for a final confirmation. Vash rubbed the back of his neck and plucked up the courage to meet that violet gaze once more.

"Like I said," he went on, "I don't know if it'll be any good or not. I've never made it before."

"Oh, my." The brunet blinked, then leaned back against the booth. He placed a hand over his heart. "I'm just sincerely flattered that you would do something like this. For me, I mean."

Vash was _beyond_ flustered. He could only mutter some excuse about the whole endeavor and insisted that the man should try the torte to make sure everything was in order. Hopefully before he keeled over from the drumbeat thundering in his chest. _Why_ was he so nervous? _It's only cake._

Vash stopped his fidgeting as the Austrian picked up his fork and collected a piece of the pastry, along with some of the whipped cream on the side, and took a taste.

He hadn't expected those violaceous eyes to close, nor a small noise of delight to rumble in the man's throat.

"Well," the Austrian's voice lilted as he looked up at Vash, those dark irises sending sparks up the blond's spine. "I can say that you are a most talented _pâtissier._ It's honestly perfect."

The Swiss let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. The way the man hummed the last word made Vash's blush simmer as the tidal wave of relief washed through him, untangling all of his nerves in a single pass.

 _He likes it._

"That's good," Vash rushed to say, trying to snap himself back into some semblance of professionalism before he embarrassed himself even further in front of the man. "Very good, I'm glad."

"How much do I owe you?" the gentleman asked.

Vash held up his hands and shook his head, blond bob falling slightly loose from its tie. "No charge. I'm just happy that you like it."

"Thank you." The Austrian gave him a small, beautiful smile. Vash felt his heart do a little flip at the sight, and for some reason he felt like he'd been given a rare gift.

The yellow-haired man patted down the front of his apron, bashful at the praise. He dipped his head as he felt even more heat creep into his cheeks, and said, "You're welcome. Please, enjoy."

Vash swiftly retreated back behind the counter and into the kitchen, running away from his beating heart.

 _What the fuck was that._

 **...xXx…**

Vash busied himself with tidying up the kitchen while his heartrate came back down from the stratosphere.

He wiped the counters and stored away the leftover ingredients he hadn't used. He debated what to do with the two partial tortes while he cleaned up, and ultimately decided to use them. The cake _was_ delicious, and it could make an interesting new menu item.

The Swiss cut two slices from the one he'd taste tested and prepared them much like he had before, with whipped cream and sugar. Bazil and Toris could be his fellow judges, and he'd save the last piece for Berwald to try in the morning.

Vash covered the cakes to keep them fresh for his companions to eat once their shift was over. He turned to the other torte and began to wrap it in wax paper for travel. Grabbing one of their box containers and a paper bag, the blond was neatly tying everything up when the kitchen door opened on his left.

"Whoa, it smells good in here," Toris called from the other side of the kitchen.

"That it does," Vash agreed, placing the box inside the paper bag and folding the top down. "What is it?"

The Lithuanian caught his attention and thumbed over his shoulder to the door he just walked through. "If you've got a minute, your special customer wants to talk with you."

 _"My_ —what?" Vash huffed, trying his best to keep the heat from flaming up beneath his cheeks at the insinuation.

"You know, the difficult man," Toris said. "The one with the blue coat and the really handsome hair."

"Yes, yes, I get it," the Swiss snapped. _My special customer? Hah!_ He picked up the bagged cake and pushed passed the smirking man. At the door he thought to mention the other torte to the Lithuanian.

With that, Vash exited the kitchen and emerged into the café.

The gentleman in question was standing by the counter a meter or so away from him, dressed ready to leave. His pea coat was buttoned snugly, a black wool scarf wound around his neck. A pair of dark leather gloves adorned his twined fingers as they rested atop the counter.

He perked up as Vash walked over and came to a stop opposite him.

Not wanting to let his unwelcome shyness get the better of him, the Swiss plucked up with, "Hallo, again."

"Hallo," the Austrian breathed out. He straightened up further and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small wad of cash and held it out. "For my bill," he clarified as Vash took the money. "And the tip," he added softly.

"Of course, thank you," Vash replied automatically. The paper bag in his hand tugged at his attention, and the Swiss remembered why he brought it with him in the first place. He placed it on the counter and pushed it towards the other. "This is the rest of torte for you."

"Really?" the Austrian asked.

"Consider it _your_ tip." Vash stopped himself from messing with his loose hair in horror. _What the hell?_ He couldn't even look at the man after the words left his mouth. _'Consider it your tip'? God, that's so dumb!_ More than ever he wished that he'd fixed his messy hair bun.

"Very well, then. Thank you." The gentleman chuckled, and the sound made the Swiss feel warm. "Perhaps you'll allow me another."

Vash glanced up, giving the man a look of confusion. The brunet cleared his throat and spoke up again.

"Forgive me if this is too forward," the Austrian said, "but I really am grateful for what you did earlier." He tapped a gloved finger on the counter, once, twice. "To repay your kindness I was wondering if, perhaps, I could take you to dinner?"

 _Huh?_

Vash's face flushed again and he clutched the wad of cash to his chest. His mouth fell open as he tried to sputter out a response, his mind not quite working as fast as he'd like. The Swiss only stood there in struck silence.

"You don't have to accept, of course," the other insisted. Lavender eyes cast themselves downward and the Austrian dipped his head. He tucked his book under his arm and adjusted his glasses, looking discouraged at the blond's reaction—or lack there of.

"Yes!"

Once the Swiss regained control over his motor skills, he immediately had the urge to throw himself through one of the café's many windows.

 _Wait, what?! 'Yes'?! Oh my god_ —

The hazel-haired man stared for several seconds in shock at his overly eager outburst. Vash looked down at the counter in embarrassment. "I-I, ah, I mean," he tried again. "Sure. That sounds . . . _nice."_

Vash tucked a hair behind his ear and glanced up. He knew that his face was even redder than it had been earlier. His heart was beating a million miles an hour at the idea, at the _thought_ of agreeing to have dinner with the Austrian gentleman. His cheeks were too hot.

As he dared to peek up at the other man, he saw that the handsome Austrian was giving him another small smile.

"When are you free?" the gentleman asked, sounding less dejected and more . . . excited? _Why would he be excited to take me to dinner?_

Vash quickly cut away that line of thought and swallowed. "Ah, I don't work weekends."

"Hmm." Those violet irises were glittering. "How's Saturday at seven, then?"

The Swiss nodded his head, breathing a small, "Sure." It felt like steam should have leaked off of his tongue with how warm he was getting.

"It's a date," the Austrian murmured, that smile growing. He dipped his head and grabbed the torte to go, his other hand picking up the umbrella that had been perched underneath the lip of the counter. "I'll see you then. Have a good evening," he said as he turned to leave the café.

Vash, fighting against the beat of his heart, remembered last minute to call out his own goodbye and his cheeks darkened as the man flashed him another bright smile as he exited the shop. The blond-haired barista watched the elegant Austrian lift his umbrella and stride off through the rain and down the street.

He slumped against the counter with a groan, heart beating too fast. He idly wondered if this is what a heart attack felt like.

Spending a few moments to compose himself, he fidgeted with money in his hand. Then a thought hit him and he immediately wanted to punch himself in the face.

 _Scheisse! I didn't get his number! Fuck, I don't even know his_ name! _God, I'm so dumb!_

As he fretted, Vash looked at the cash he was handed once more and attempted to count out the amount for the man's bill to try and calm down. _One, two, three,_ etc. All of it was there, the exact bill amount. Except there was no tip like the man had said, which was fine, albeit confusing.

Then he froze. Inside the folds of money was a tiny paperclip that held another bill and a business card. Vash pulled out the ivory card and saw that the name _Roderich Edelstein_ was printed in a fine cursive font on the front with a phone number underneath.

 _So his name is Roderich,_ he thought, nerves settling as he stared at the name. _Roderich._ It suited the gentleman. Vash was happy to finally have a name to a face, even if it _was_ a handsome one, with or without a name.

He flipped over the business card, wondering what the man did for a living to require them. On the back of the card there was more writing.

Scribbled in an even more beautiful scrawl than the font were the words: _Vielen Dank für den Kuchen._

Vash nibbled his lip, his chest warm and full. It had been a spur of the moment decision, the cake. He couldn't in a thousand years have expected the Austrian to have asked him out in response. He couldn't even _believe_ he'd agreed!

Not that he regretted it or anything, only that he wasn't used to getting many offers.

Vash pulled out the last bill that had been held by the clip with the card. _Is this the tip?_ As he unfolded the bill to see what it was, he nearly dropped it. _Fifty dollars._ The blond's mind was reeling. _This is way too much! He probably gave me the wrong bill._ He didn't think his heart could take any more surprises. He stared down at the cash and the business card. _I told him he didn't have to pay for it,_ he thought. _Yet he still did._

A throat cleared behind him and the Swiss just about jumped out of his skin. He spun around to see Toris staring at him from the kitchen entrance, halfway through the threshold.

The man's eyebrows were raised and he said, "So?" His quiet voice sounded a little too innocent.

Vash glanced over to see that Bazil was wrapping up the last two customers as they would begin to close up for the night. The blond treaded shyly over to Toris and ducked his head down, whispering, "How much did you hear?"

The Lithuanian tried to look nonchalant and failed. He just grinned at him. "Congrats on your date."

Vash groaned as the brunet laughed and patted him on the shoulder. He could count on Toris not to tell anyone else about his embarrassing predicament, at least not until after his date.

His . . . _date._ The idea was so foreign to him, and it made his heart flutter like a bee in a jar.

Vash looked at the business card again, thumb rolling over the words imprinted there.

 _His name is Roderich._

 **...xXx…**

 ** _Kaffee-crème_ \- "Coffee-crème," basically a long espresso**

 ** _Linzer torte_ \- Austria's number one cake export, apparently!**

 ** _P_ _âtissier_ \- French for "pastry chef"**

 _ **Hallo**_ **\- Hello**

 ** _Scheisse_ \- Shit**

 ** _Vielen Dank für den Kuchen_ \- Thank you for the cake**

 **Second chapter, how exciting! The fluff is gonna start getting real, yo.**


	3. Hot Umber the Collar

**Nervous about admitting that he'd been asked out on a date, Vash finds comfort in his family.**

 **...xXx…**

Vash sat cross-legged on the large, L-shaped grey couch in the center of the living room. He was tucked into the corner and squeezed a cushion to his chest as he stared at his phone. The small electronic sat on the wooden coffee table in the most innocent way.

As if it hadn't been burning a hole in his pocket the entire way home.

"Hey, Vash, do you want any dessert?" he heard his sister call from the kitchen.

He hummed a distracted, "No, thanks."

Lilli was over for their weekly Thursday movie night, and the two of them and Matthew had finished up with dinner for the evening. The others insisted on cleaning up, so now he was fresh from a quick shower and just waiting for them to sit down so they could debate which movie they were going to watch.

He hadn't told either of them of his encounter with a certain Austrian earlier that day.

 _Roderich._

Vash's cheeks warmed.

He hadn't even had a moment to text the Austrian man yet. Too swept up by the sudden hellos from Matthew and Lilli and the mouthwatering smells of dinner on the table once he'd gotten home. Now it was approaching nearly _10:30pm_ , and he idly wondered if it was too late to initiate contact.

For one, Vash wasn't quite sure how to approach the subject. He'd been stuck in a daze the entire time they'd been closing up shop. The blond had been so caught up in his own head, that, aside from the few teasing nudges that Toris gave him, he'd hardly noticed anything else around him until he was already home and unlocking the door to their apartment.

"What do you think we should watch?" Vash glanced up as his sister plopped onto the couch next to him.

Lilli wore one of his sweatshirts, pale blue with a cloud pattern, and black leggings. Her bob of blonde hair was pushed back out of her face by a white headband. She looked comfortable and like her usual bouncy self even though she'd no doubt been working on class assignments all day. He, on the other hand, was gratefully lounging in a pair of warm, green sweats, happy to be off of his feet.

His sister nudged his arm, her eyebrows furrowed. "Hey, is everything okay?"

"What?" Vash loosened his grip on the cushion in his lap, aware of the ache in his joints from squeezing the pillow for too long. "What do you mean?"

"You've been kind of quiet since you got home," Lilli said, lifting her legs up onto the couch and pulling the front of the sweatshirt over her knees. She rested her cheek on them as she stared at him sideways. "Did something happen at work?"

"No," Vash said a little too quickly, fiddling with his sleeves.

"Are you sure? You didn't get into a fight with anyone, did you?"

The blond man rolled his eyes and gave Lilli a pointed _look._ She knew that he hadn't fought anyone in years. The girl only softened and stuck her tongue out playfully at him.

"Well," Lilli began again, "if it wasn't a fight, then what's going on? Are you getting sick?"

Vash barely moved in time to avoid her hand reaching towards his cheek and chuckled. "Lilli! Nothing's wrong, I promise."

The girl giggled and felt his cheek anyways. "Then what's got you so red, huh?" She tipped to the side to press against his shoulder, scooching behind the big cushion with him. "And don't say it's because you're happy you get to spend time with me, though I'd believe you."

Vash laughed again and let her settle beside him. This was the only time throughout the week that he got to see her unless she decided to stop by the café for a little caffeine pick-me-up amidst all her studying. The man couldn't help the blush on his cheeks from her teasing, truly happy just to banter with her. He glanced at his phone once more. His heart sped up as the urge to tell his sister what had happened swelled, and he bit down on his lip.

"Uh oh. I know that look."

The siblings looked up as Matthew entered the living room, a great white mound of fur padding next to him. Kuma, Matthew's Samoyed dog, followed after his master while attempting to lick nonexistent food out of his hand. The man sunk onto the couch on the other side of Lilli and Kuma hopped up next to him, sprawling halfway across the Canadian's lap with a whine until he was petted. Matthew's hair was its usual curl and the blond had changed into one of his many leaf-themed sets of pajamas before joining them on the sofa.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Vash raised an eyebrow at the languid man as he stretched an arm over the back of the couch and poked the Swiss in the shoulder.

"You're overthinking something," Matthew answered with a shrug. "Though, I don't even know where to begin guessing."

"I've been trying to weasel it out of him, but he's being stubborn," Lilli added. "As usual."

"I'm right here, you guys."

"What is it this time, then?" Lilli pressed. She frowned and leaned into him again. "Vash, come on."

Vash looked purposely away from his best friends. And that's definitely what they were. They told each other most everything, the good and the bad.

This was a different matter, though. This was _much_ different.

Heat pooled into his cheeks again and the Swiss snagged his phone.

"You know you can trust us," Lilli said. Matthew softly concurred with her point.

The others watched him as he tapped his darkened phone screen nervously and crossed his arms, laying his cheek on them as he returned the stare. Vash was _dying_ to tell them. He turned his head to hide his mouth and hopefully his cheeks against his sleeves, and he spoke at last.

"I got asked out on a date," Vash admitted, voice muffled. His heart fluttered at the realization that what he said was, in fact, true.

It was just barely silent long enough to allow a breath.

"A what?" Matthew gasped, bewildered.

"A date!" Lilli chirped. "Really?"

Vash nodded and glanced over to see their shocked expressions. He could hardly believe it himself.

"Seriously? With who? Is it someone from work?" Matthew asked, sitting forward despite protest from Kuma in his lap. Vash shook his head. "A customer, then?"

"Or someone else?" Lilli chipped in, excitement clear in her voice and sparkling eyes. "Was it someone from university?"

Vash tried to lean away from their encroaching questions, holding up his hands and sputtering excuses for them to settle down. He quickly tried to placate them before they spewed any more ideas and forced his admission out, "I-It was a customer." Matthew's eyebrows rose slowly.

"Oh? Who is it?" Lilli simply responded. "What's her name?"

"His name is—" The Swiss man froze, green eyes wide.

He'd never . . . Oh. _Oh no._

The blond tried not to panic as he swiftly looked away, face hotter with shame now than embarrassment.

 _I never told her,_ he thought in a rush. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Not that _it_ had ever really come up before. What with their harsh upbringing, and the way he'd busied himself with work and school all through adolescence.

Vash had known ever since he was young that he liked boys instead of girls, and then men instead of women as he grew older. Aside from a few stolen touches behind stairways and in bars he never outwardly expressed this attraction, not when the threat of prejudice and bodily harm were a constant happening for him anyways back home. So he'd never said a word to his sister, not even after they moved. Nor to any of his new friends in the States. Not to anyone.

The heaviness in the air was suffocating him, like an unwanted blanket, and the room was silent. Neither of his companions made a sound, and that just furthered to unnerve him. Vash gripped the phone hidden under his sleeve and swallowed, his tongue suddenly dry. This was going to be even harder than he'd realized.

Vash didn't know how they would react. He almost didn't _want_ to know.

The man didn't think his sister would judge him, she never had before, but he had no idea about . . . _this_. It wasn't a secret he intended to keep forever, after all, just one that hadn't needed mentioning until now. They'd never spoken about romantic interests with each other before; it had been just one of those topics that didn't come up between them. He chewed his cheek and felt awful.

Then there was Matthew. The two of them hardly talked about dating, either. Matthew himself was a very laid back guy, pretty fluid with giving compliments to both men and women when they entered the shop, but that could just be flattery. It was usually easy talk between them about literally anything else, day to day stuff and sharing pleasant memories. Matthew would talk about his brother, Alfred, and his family; whatever Angelique was up to on her off days and how his dad's relationship with that one English professor was going. That meant he _wouldn't_ judge him, right? Or hate him?

Vash's eyes were beginning to burn. He _really_ hadn't thought to ask the man before then what his preferences and tolerances were. Neither of them had dated anyone during the duration of their living together. Only discussions of movies or music or work or the hockey matches they'd watch every season were a constant in the small apartment, Vash learning real quick not to pick American teams over Canadian ones—though, if he were being honest, both had their good and bad players.

And to be fair to himself the two of them _did_ work for Berwald, who was absolutely moony over his husband nearly every waking hour, so perhaps Matthew really didn't have any qualms with that sort of thing. If anything, he was one of the sweetest people Vash had ever met so maybe that was reason enough for him not to worry.

But he _was_ worried. They'd have to know by now—he'd been quiet for too long.

 _Why aren't they saying anything?_ he thought, blinking the hotness away from his eyes. Vash attempted to control his breathing, not willing to send himself into an anxiety attack over speculations in his own mind. _Fuck._

"Vash." The man flinched at the mention of his name, and scolded himself for it.

"Please look at us, bud."

He said nothing.

"Vash, hey."

The Swiss man felt two hands weigh themselves on his right shoulder, one larger than the other. He inhaled deeply and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, collecting his scrambled thoughts. Then he turned to look at the others, kind blue and green eyes meeting his gaze. With affectionate smiles, Matthew gave his shoulder a squeeze and Lilli patted his arm gently. Then his sister lifted up her other hand and flicked him in the nose.

"Ouch, Lil'," Vash croaked, rubbing the spot even though it didn't hurt. "What was that for?"

"You never answered me, you dork," Lilli said, pursing her lips as she tried not to laugh and failed. When he didn't respond she rolled her eyes and smirked at him. "Who's this mystery man that's got you so bothered that you're worried to even tell your own sister about him?"

"Or your best friend," Matthew added quietly.

"Him, too."

Vash blinked. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked over both of them. There wasn't an ounce of judgement anywhere present in either of their expressions. Maybe they were just hiding it for his benefit—

"Dude," Matthew said, shaking his head as he pulled back his hand. "Do you really think we'd mind?"

The Swiss man licked his lips. "Mind?"

"That you prefer men." The Canadian sighed and gave Kuma a few pets, the dog's ears perking. Matthew leaned his head against the back of the couch and gave the stressed Swiss a good-natured eye roll. "I mean, just look at me, or my family. Or, jeez, literally look at anyone we work with."

"And what makes you think," Lilli huffed with a semi-hurt expression, "that you being interested in guys would make me feel any differently about you?" The girl's voice softened, touching on tender. "You're still my big brother, no matter what."

Vash had to look away again for fear that he was about to both spontaneously combust and cry in front of the two of them. "Well, when," he said, his voice higher pitched than he would have liked. "When you put it like _that_ you make me sound like an idiot!"

"Because you _are_ one," Lilli groaned dramatically, pushing against him in a mock faint.

The man let himself be squished between her and the corner of the couch. The resounding comfort that swelled through him from their combined reassurances calmed his nerves and the gnashing in his gut. A pressure he didn't know that had been swallowing him lifted. Vash rubbed his eyes and let a small laugh bubble up in his throat.

 _Now I just feel silly,_ he thought ruefully, more relieved than upset. He gripped his phone and sat up as Lilli freed him from her weight.

"So," Vash said, glancing from the Canadian to his sister. His cheeks still burned as he tucked his damp hair behind his ears.

 _"Sooo?"_ Lilli sang, her eyebrows wiggling. "What's his name?"

The blond man ducked his head. "His name is Roderich."

Lilli _'ooo'_ -ed in acknowledgement and sat back, letting Kuma wiggle his head underneath her arm as the dog scooted further up into Matthew's lap. Said man was looking at him oddly.

"Which customer is that?" Matthew asked. "Does he come in often?"

"Ah." Vash avoided his curious gaze for a moment, thinking it over. Matthew had only dealt with Roderich only a few times before the Swiss had become the handsome man's unofficial personal barista. Though, the Austrian was one of their well known regulars among the staff, coined either as _The Difficult Man,_ _The Gentleman With the Blue Coat_ , or _Vash, You Need to Come Serve This Guy Immediately, Please!_

Vash shook from his thoughts and met his friend's blue eyes. "You know the one that comes in," he began, trying to find a way to word it without smiling. "The one that no one will serve anymore except me?"

The Swiss almost wished he had thought to record Matthew's reaction. The sudden burst of movement from the Canadian made the siblings both jolt away as he stood so quickly that it sent Kuma rolling to the floor with a yelp.

Vash sat there for a few beats, watching the blond man pace back and forth while Kuma followed. He cleared his throat, catching his attention. "Matt. Are you, uh, angry?"

 _"Ugh,_ no." Matthew groaned into his hands and rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair, giving the siblings a sheepish, lopsided smile. "No, I'm not mad at you. I just lost a bet with Berwald."

Vash blinked. "What?"

"He noticed that guy being sweet on you and bet me that he'd ask you out," Matthew said quickly. He stepped over to the kitchen island to rummage through his wallet, muttering under his breath about having to go to the bank in the morning. "I said there was no way that would happen because, well, I've never seen you interested in anyone before, so I figured it'd be an easy twenty bucks."

The Swiss rolled his eyes, unable to help his snort. "Twenty bucks, huh?"

"Hey, man, I'm happy for you!" Matthew laughed, raising up his hands placatingly.

"He's sweet, then?" Lilli chimed in, turning around to look at him. "Like, he's nice, ja?"

"Ja, Lil'," Vash murmured, ducking his head. His mind ran over all of the kind greetings and conversations that had transpired over the months between them, the heat from earlier creeping up onto his cheeks again. "He's nice."

"Yeah, yeah, real polite," Matthew said as he rejoined them on the couch, distractedly typing on his phone. _He's probably texting Berwald, oh my god._ "He only likes it when your brother serves him, though."

"Eh?" Light lime green eyes studied her brother's face as he nodded in affirmation, then widened in recognition. "Oh! I think you mentioned him before. The one that's super picky with his coffee?" The Canadian confirmed for her and the girl's face broke into a saucy grin, her eyebrows dancing suggestively at him. "Ooo, Vash. I think he just wanted you to serve him because he thinks your cute."

"C-Cute?!" Vash sputtered, shaking his head. "I think he just likes the way I make coffee."

 _"Suuure_ it is," Lilli crooned, leaning against him again. "It's the coffee that he asked out on a date, after all." Matthew snickered on the other side of her.

Vash buried his face into his sleeves and looked down at the phone in his hand, cheeks darkening. A few moments of companionable silence passed between them, and finally the Swiss felt like he'd had his heart rate under control. Lilli leaned forward a bit and pointed to his phone.

"So when's your date?"

"Saturday," he said, words muffled by his sleeve. "At seven."

"Where are you guys going?"

Vash chewed the inside of his cheek. "He wants to take me out to dinner," he said, glancing up. "Though I don't know where. I haven't talked to him yet." He held up his phone.

"Well," Lilli stated, sliding away and standing up with some effort against the massive couch cushions. She stepped around the coffee table and over to the small shelves filled with DVDs as she gestured at herself and Matthew. "Why don't you text him and find out while Mattie and I pick a movie."

Matthew shot him a grin and stood to help his sister peruse over their many film options. Kuma huffed at all the movement and sidled over to the Swiss, flopping down at the foot of the sofa in front of him with a dogged sigh. Vash watched one of the Samoyed's ears twitch for a few moments before going still, the dog's breathing deepening into a soft snore.

 _Might as well get it over with,_ he thought at last, shoulders slumping as he looked at his phone screen. His stomach was curling in a way that brought back feelings of when the Austrian had smiled at him after receiving the _Linzer torte_. He anxiously unlocked his phone and went to the contacts list, opening a new message thread.

It took a few tries before he could get his thumbs working. Typing and deleting and retyping different first messages. Everything from a simple _hi_ to _hello_ then to a _hallo_ to a _hey,_ to remembering that he hadn't even given the man his own number in return so he probably wouldn't even know who was texting. He listened to Lilli and Matthew going back and forth over movies for a solid minute before settling on something simple and hitting send before he could change his mind.

 ** _V—Hey, this is Vash. The barista from the café._**

The Swiss chewed at his lip, well aware that it was nearly _11 o'clock_ at night and the man could very well be asleep. It was no big deal, he could wait. He moved the cushion off of his lap and leaned down to pet Kuma's head, comforting himself with the dog's fluffy fur.

Vash nearly fell forward as he felt his phone vibrate in his lap. Sitting up, his heartbeat quickened as he hurried to open the newly received message.

 _ **R—Oh, thank goodness. Forgive me for my nervousness earlier, I felt like such a fool for forgetting to ask for your number.**_

Vash stared at the text, slowly unpacking the man's rather quick reply. _Him? Nervous?_ The thought of the usually cool and composed gentleman worrying over anything related to him made his stomach do a little flip. Glancing up to see his friends still musing over movies, he turned his attention back to his phone.

 ** _V—It's ok, I also forgot_**

The man fiddled with his now dry hair, untangling a few knots before quickly sending another message before he could help it.

 ** _V—I'm actually surprised you asked me out in the first place_**

A minute passed. A text bubble popped up.

 _ **R—Was I too forward? I apologize for asking while you were working.**_

 _Shit!_ Vash leaned into the corner of the couch, needing to type faster than he was able. _That's not what I meant!_

 _ **V—No!**_

 _ **V—It just caught me off guard is all**_

 _ **V—I wasn't expecting it**_

 _ **V—Not that I'm saying no to the date**_

 _ **V—Because I'm not**_

Vash caught himself before he flooded the Austrian's inbox with anymore obvious desperation. He berated himself internally over the few minutes or so that it took for a reply to show up.

 _ **R—I'm glad to hear it. :)**_

The simple emote caught the Swiss by surprise and he couldn't help his relieved sigh as he melted back into the couch.

 _ **R—It's good you texted me when you did, I was about to stress sleep over all of this.**_

 _ **V—I'm just glad I didn't wake you, sorry I didn't message until now**_

 _ **R—It's quite all right. By the way, I meant to ask if you have any food allergies or preferences?**_

The neatly composed sentences made Vash a tad self-conscious about his own writing, but they seemed so in line with everything else he'd witnessed about the gentleman.

 _ **V—Not really. Where are we going for dinner?**_

The Swiss nibbled his lip as his blush burned ever hotter. He was still partially in disbelief about the whole situation. Him? Roderich? Dinner? Ridiculous.

 **R—If I'm honest, originally I wanted to cook for you myself, but I have been informed that doing so might come across too strongly for a first date.**

Vash couldn't help his laugh, fingers finding his words faster than he could stop them.

 _ **V—You can cook?**_

 _ **R—Of course. It's one of my many talents.**_

 _ **V—Why doesn't that surprise me.**_

 _ **R—Oh? And here I was trying to be unpredictable!**_

Lilli and Matthew looked up as he tried to hold back his laughter behind his sleeve, unable to meet their gazes. He knew his face was beet red and just waved off their stares, hiding behind his phone screen as he heard them loudly whisper to one another.

"I don't think I've ever seen him giggle at his phone," Lilli commented.

"I don't think I've ever seen him giggle," Matthew added. He heard his sister swat the man on the arm as a text came through to drag his attention away.

 _ **R—Have you ever heard of The Lighthouse?**_

 _ **V—Not that I can think of, no.**_

 _ **R—It's this small restaurant near the river that I think would be a good spot to spend our time together.**_

 _Spend our time together._

Vash took a steadying breath against the wave of warmth that washed over him. He ignored the quiet hoots and whistles at him from his sister and best friend as they waved a few romantic comedy movies at him excitedly. Oh dear, he was never going to hear the end of their teasing.

 _ **V—It's a date. :)**_

 **...xXx...**

 **First update of the new year! Feels great to be back. Hope you all enjoyed, the story is only going to get more fluffy from here on out.**


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